Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Except Shay doesn’t flash me her smile or sit by me. She certainly doesn’t laugh. She slides her sweet concoction in front of me and says, “On the house. I have to get out of here.”
“I thought you needed a drink.”
When she meets my eyes, I’m taken back to Paris, to my hotel room in Chicago, to her bedroom out at the lake and the hundred other times she met my eyes and I felt like Superman. “I was wrong.” She turns around, but instead of leaving through the front, she ducks out from behind the bar and stomps off to the bathroom.
I get it. I fucked up with her. Fucked up phenomenally. But how am I supposed to apologize when she won’t even talk to me?
I slide off my stool and follow her. She’s standing at the sink, arms braced on the counter, head bowed. “Shay?”
She rolls her neck and sighs. “Easton, this is the women’s room.”
I nudge the door shut behind me and flip the lock. “I noticed.” I fold my arms. “I saw my chance and took it.”
She draws in a long breath. “Your chance for what? Creepy bathroom stalking?”
“My chance to talk to you alone. You’re avoiding me.”
Her eyes flash. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“Are you sure about that?” I stalk toward her. The pull to her is magnetic, and it’s a miracle I’ve kept my distance this long. Hell, it’s a miracle I ever let her go to begin with. “I can think of a lot of things we could talk about. Should we start with Paris or Chicago? Or maybe we should start with New Year’s Eve out at the lake?”
“None of the above.” She turns to me, her expression resigned as she leans a hip against the counter.
“Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”
“You missed me? Is this some alternate-facts shit? Because last I checked, you had my number. You could’ve called or sent me a fucking text message. You weren’t missing me. You were living your life.”
“I hated myself for missing you. I thought I needed to make it work with Scarlett.” I swallow and step closer. The truth burns my throat, searing off a piece of my pride. “I thought I could do it if you weren’t a choice. I thought I could get over you. I was wrong about all of it. No amount of time can change the way I feel about you.”
Her breath catches. “Easton—”
I slide my hand into her hair and skim my thumb across her bottom lip. “There wasn’t a single day that went by that I didn’t think about you.”
I lower my mouth to hers before she can reply. The first touch of my lips to hers, and everything snaps into place for me. This is what I want—where I want to be, where I belong. Her lips part on a gasp. I touch my tongue to hers, and she presses her palm to my chest.
“Fuck you.” She shoves me back—hard—and I stumble. “I didn’t say you could do that.”
Shaking my head, I force myself to back away another step. I didn’t come in here intending to touch her, and with my recklessness, she’s even less likely to talk to me.
She lifts her chin, her eyes blazing with anger I totally deserve. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m not single? Did it ever occur to you that I might have a boyfriend? That maybe I haven’t spent the last seven years waiting around for you?” She folds her arms, disgust clear in the curl of her lip. “You are so self-centered.”
I shove my hands into my pockets so they don’t get me in trouble. My pride is bruised as fuck, but this conversation isn’t over. “It did occur to me. That’s why I asked Jake. He said you weren’t seeing anyone.”
“So Jake is an expert in my love life now? You think he knows about every guy I’ve dated? Every man I’ve taken to bed?” She huffs out a breath. “Even if I were single—which, sorry to disappoint you when you’re stuck in Jackson Harbor with no one else to fuck, I’m not—how egotistical do you have to be to assume I’d want to climb back into bed with you?”
There’s so much happening in that sentence that I’m not even sure where to start. Maybe I am self-centered, because I start with the part that hurts the most. “You are seeing someone.”
She folds her arms protectively across her middle. “Yeah.”
“It can’t be that serious if you haven’t introduced him to your family.”
“Don’t make assumptions about my life.”
“Do you love him?”
There’s something else in her expression—pain? Awkwardness? I can’t tell. “It’s complicated.”
I step forward and lift a hand, but I stop myself, turning around gripping the doorknob before I make the mistake of touching her again. I feel her eyes on my back. “I never expected you to wait for me. You deserved better than that.” When I look at her over my shoulder, her expression is tight, her chest heaving like it would have if I’d had the chance to finish that kiss. “I stayed away because you deserved better than me.”